


Five Times Jon Snow Knows Nothing (and one time he finds out)

by questioningconstellations



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Badass Arya, F/M, but alas we didn’t get any of that, i wish season 8 had given us more jon and arya, i would have loved to see jon realise how much of a badass arya has become, jon snow really knows nothing, pre 8x06, so here I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-03-30 22:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19036531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questioningconstellations/pseuds/questioningconstellations
Summary: A series of moments between Arya Stark and Jon Snow as Jon realises his little sister is not the same girl she was when she left for King’s Landing all those years ago.





	1. Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Their last hug was goodbye.

_Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come. ___

__He remembers every word of his oath to the Night’s Watch. It feels like a lifetime since he said those words in front of this very weirwood tree. His eyes trace the lines of the face carved into it by the Children of the Forest, as everything that befell him since then flits across his mind in flashes._ _

__“You used to be taller.”_ _

__He whips around at the sound of her voice. _Arya _. She hasn't become all that much taller but she looks different nevertheless._ _ __

__

__“How did you sneak up on me?” He’s finally found his voice._ _

__

__She doesn’t move any closer, “How did you survive a knife through the heart?”_ _

__

__He feels a tinge of pain at her words and his smile falters a bit. Standing in front of the weirwood doesn’t help. The sting of betrayal still grips him as he recalls the faces of his men as they stuck blade after blade in him. _Traitor _, they had called him.___ _

__

____He can’t think of how to tell her all of it in that moment so he opts for, “I didn’t.” It doesn’t explain anything but it’s all he can manage to get out. The wounds feel fresh still._ _ _ _

__

____He anticipates more questions when his eyes meet her steely gaze. But none come. Her face breaks out into the kind of smile he braved white walkers for and took knives in the heart for to see again._ _ _ _

__

____She’s running to him and barely a few seconds later, she jumps into his arms the way she did seven years ago. He much prefers this one. Their last hug was goodbye._ _ _ _

__

____His gaze lowers to the leather belt around her waist. He sees an unfamiliar intricately designed hilt of a dagger and Needle. His eyes widen at the sight of it and the memories of giving her that very sword flood his mind. The way she had smiled at the sight. The way she almost hugged him in joy with it in her hand still before he warned her to sheath it first._ _ _ _

__

____“You still have it then,” he says._ _ _ _

__

____She pulls it out, balancing it evenly on her hands with a smile, “Needle.”_ _ _ _

__

____“Have you ever used it?” It’s the first question on his mind. He’s searching for some answers to the sight of his sister before him, undeniably and irrevocably changed._ _ _ _

__

____At his words, a dark look crosses her face; just for a fraction of a second. So swift that he would have surely missed it, had he blinked. She bites her lip slightly, “Once or twice.”_ _ _ _

__

____He knows there’s more. There _has _to be more. He wants desperately to know what happened to his little sister but he doesn’t press the issue. After all, she’s not the only one holding back. Time, he thinks. They need time.___ _ _ _

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](https://questioningconstellations.tumblr.com) if you've got questions about GOT and gendrya or if you just need a safe space to spill all your gendrya thoughts and emotions because I'd love to hear all of it :)


	2. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon confronts the reality that Arya won't sit and wait while others fight for her.

Jon stands at the side, watching his men spar in the courtyard and carry piles of dragonglass tipped weapons out from the armory. In the distance, he can hear the distinct sound of a hammer hitting an anvil in the smithy. A gust of cold air makes him clutch the furs he wears tighter around him. 

The dread inside him only burgeons every moment that passes. In a few days, there will be a battle. He’s no stranger to them but this one will be markedly different from all the ones that precede it. This time on the field, they will fight an ancient enemy. This time they fight the Dead. And the Dead are unlike the living in every way that matters. They have no fear. They feel no pain. They do not tire. 

Every time his eyes meet someone else’s, he wonders if theirs will be blue and unseeing a few days from now, or if _his_ will be. It’s a terrible thought. 

He’s thankful for the interruption that comes in the form of someone coming to stand beside him. He turns to find his sister looking back at him. He smiles slightly at her. In spite of the terrible things the next few days hold, seeing her again fills him with the kind of warmth not even the thickest of furs could provide him. 

Of all his siblings, it’s Arya that he’s always felt the closest too. From the time she was born, she’s made him smile more than anyone ever had. Much to the late Lady Catelyn’s chagrin, Arya clung to him more than she ever did to her. When she was little, she’d follow him around wherever he went and may the Old and New Gods be with whoever sneered at him in her presence. 

At Dragonstone, he couldn’t believe the words he had read. He had thought Arya had died years ago. No one had heard of her since his father’s beheading in King’s Landing. Unlike Sansa who’d been imprisoned there, she’d vanished into thin air. For years, no one knew of what happened to Arya Stark. She was a little girl then and presumably all alone. Little girls don’t survive very long by themselves and he had grown to accept that his favourite sister was dead. 

Looking at her now, he thanks all the gods that she is here. _She_ makes him feel like he is truly home again.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He gestures to the courtyard, “Watching them train. Making sure things are running smoothly.”

“No…” She grins at him. “You’re _brooding_ , Jon.”

“I am not,” He pauses then because this is Arya. “Alright, I am.”

“There. Now that wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” 

He reaches out to slap her shoulder her but she deftly dodges his hand, her grin growing wider.

“How’d you get so quick?”

“I just did,” she replies. “What’s wrong, Jon?”

That’s Arya. Always getting straight to the point. He sighs, “I’m thinking about how little chance we have against the Night King and the Army of the Dead. We’ve got good fighters but still not enough.”

She raises an eyebrow, “We have dragons.”

“Aye, but the Night King has a dragon himself now,” he says, shaking his head. 

She takes his hand in hers, “Jon, we can fight harder than any soldier in his army. This is our home. We _have to_ try.”

“I know,” he says. “You’ll be in the crypts with Sansa and the others when the time comes, won’t you?”

She smiles slightly as if she knows something he doesn’t, “No, Jon. I won’t be in the crypts.”

“What?”

“I’m going to fight.”

He doesn’t understand what she's saying at all, “Arya, I’ve seen the Dead. I’ve fought them. You’ll be safe in the crypts.”

She doesn’t reply and merely turns away from him, walking into the courtyard. She sifts through the pile of swords laying on the ground before she seems to find one she likes. He doesn’t know what she’s trying to do but he moves closer.

She approaches two men sparring who immediately lower their swords when they see her. 

“Lady Stark,” they greet. He can see her twitch slightly at the title but she doesn’t address it.

“You are?” she asks. 

The taller one quickly responds, “Ser Maynard, M’lady. And this is Ser Joffen.”  


She nods slowly, “Raise your swords then. Let’s begin.”

“M’lady,” The one who calls himself Ser Maynard splutters. “We can’t possibly-”

“ _Actually_ , I think you can,” she counters.

“Both of us? M’lady, that’s not a fair-”

He watches in amusement as she regards him coolly, “Ser Maynard, when you are on the field, facing the Dead, do you think that they will do you the courtesy of a fair fight? Come at you one by one?”

“I-” 

"-That’s what I thought. Now, swords at the ready.” She pauses for a moment before beckoning another man who had been sparring over. “In fact, you can join us here too.”

He watches, open-mouthed, as she squares her shoulders and raises her sword, facing the three men that surround her. 

“Don’t worry,” she says with a smile. “I won’t cut you.”

Then, it begins. 

She fights unlike anyone he’s seen before. The three men around her strike blow after blow and she dodges every single one swiftly. When they swing at her upper body, she throws her body back, the sword slicing cleanly through the air above her before she straightens up again ready with an attack. Her movements are quick and precise. She’s not one for grand swings of the sword. Rather, her movements are small but sharp. She keeps switching between playing offensive and defensive, which makes his head spin just watching her. 

It doesn’t take him long to realise that she’s leagues better than any of the men sparring with her. And something tells him that they’re figuring that out themselves. If their weary faces are anything to go by. 

One by one, she disarms them until she’s brought all of them to their knees. When he looks around, he sees that she’s gathered quite a crowd who watch her with awe like he is. His eyes narrow when he follows the gaze of the young blacksmith, Gendry, and finds it to be settled on his sister. 

Gendry looks over at him and his smile drops at once. He nods in greeting before shuffling back to the smithy with increased urgency. How peculiar, Jon thinks. But he doesn’t get to mull over it for any longer because he hears a slow clap.

He looks over to find Sandor Clegane clapping and if he’s not mistaken, _smiling_. Adding on to his confusion, he sees Arya thank the men and walk over to him first, with a glint in her eye.

“Seems like that water-dancing shite works after all then,” the man tells her.

The faintest of smiles crosses her face, “Didn’t I tell you? No one’s going to kill me.”

“Aye, alright,” he grunts. “Hope it works against those dead fuckers that’re coming for us.” 

Arya turns to him then. She raises an eyebrow at him. He sees the challenge in her eyes. _Try me_ , she’s saying. 

In all truth, he’d much rather have her as far away from the battle as possible but she’s right. She belongs in the field and with the already terrible odds they’re facing, he’d be a damn fool to deny her that. Besides, since when does Arya do what she’s told? She’s going to be there, whether he likes it or not. 

Sighing, he looks at her, giving her a quick nod. She knows what it means and smiles. _Victory_. He’ll have to ask her after, how she learnt how to fight so well. 

He prays to all the gods, Old and New, that there’ll be an _after_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](https://questioningconstellations.tumblr.com) if you've got questions about GOT and gendrya or if you just need a safe space to spill all your gendrya thoughts and emotions because I'd love to hear all of it :)


End file.
